Beyond Recall

THERE was a time when Death and I
Met face to face together:
I was but young indeed to die,
And it was summer weather;
One happy year a wedded wife,
Yet I was slipping out of life.
You knelt beside me, and I heard,
As from some far-off distance,
A bitter cry that dimly stirred
My soul to make resistance.
You thought me dead: you called my name,
And back from Death itself I came.
But oh! that you had made no sign, —
That I had heard no crying!
For now the yearning voice is mine,
And there is no replying:
Death never could so cruel be
As Life — and you — have proved to me!
Mary E. Bradley.